Beatrice sleeps next Door.

There's a lot I can write about today. I'm not sure what to start with.

The Big Cheese - I don't remember if this is the name I liked best or if I had devised a better one, but it's a start. One of the characters I'm considering for a short story, a mob boss of sorts whose motif-inspiring preoccupation is with cultured dairy - if you will. Not meant to be serious, but by no means comedic.

Other shorts may include the Agent, an idea I've tossed around for a little while, and maybe a western? I basically envision a series of stories that are only connected by some incarnation of the Chestnut Street Diner. More on that sometime, I want to write the pieces first. We'll see, I suppose.

Beatrice is asleep not five feet from me, but he's not snoring. I may be keeping him up, and I don't care anymore. Meanwhile, Lovely is that twenty minute walk away, packing. In a little over a week she moves away.

Cello Suite #1, Prelude in G Major. Johann Sebastian Bach. I've just added it to The 8, effectively making it The 9, but that doesn't have as nice a ring to it. How can music, sounds, to be vulgar, be so conceivably beautiful? The cello, of course, is one of the finer instruments, and there is never enough of it in the music I listen to. This, and saxophone. Prelude to a Kiss and Goodnight Julia (yes, the Seatbelts) absolutely stun me - when Suite #1 comes back on in a few minutes I can and might die a happy man.

The House premiere was a fine piece of work. Online reviewers cringe at sprinkled elements, here and there, but many people seem to miss that each mental patient, not just a few of them, is an intentional reflection of the show's more regular characters. If I were writing a proper review I would bother to use actual names, and even expand on my ideas. Instead, I'm satisfied with the provocative but fictional show starring inspiring characters and deep situations that I've just seen on the television, and don't really care to take my opinions much further than this. Not online, at least, where I don't seem to have anyone to talk to anyway.

Lovely leaves in a week an a half. I'm not registered for any classes, because I still owe the Institution money. Working to resolve this as quickly as I lazily can, but...

I still have half a screenplay to write, and only two weeks to do it. Sleeping instead, as an excuse for why I haven't gotten any work done. I've almost satisfied my Castle Crashers fix, which is an excuse for why I'm not working, but it's a legitimate one. Aren't they all? No, they're not. I'm tired of Lovely complaining about her old life, which she's reluctantly retreating to, but too disconnected anymore to help her through it, even if she just wants to vent. She's been venting for a while. I feel guilty and unsupportive. I haven't told her yet that I can't or don't want to invest my time and energy into her new, old life, but I feel like I don't need to insult her intelligence, either. I don't despair that there's nothing I can do, either. Does this make sense?

Lovely and I aren't meant to be together, not anymore. We're incompatible, and we even know it. I don't know why we're gambling with odds here, except that it makes the dwindling time we have together a little less lonely. As for myself she's taught me too much and I look forward to avoiding relationships for a good long while.

With that said, I'd like to inform any passing reader that Jersey is crossing the river for a Saturday here. I haven't seen her since December 8th, 2006. Almost three years. I loved her, too, and officially for just a few months before I realized how stupid I was being. That was then.

Suite #1. Hope is a girl I work with at the Chain. Last week we were opening together when she told me, quite casually, while I reached for the coffee pot, that I had been in her dream. A group of us were at the movie theater when I collapsed in a fit of hysterics.
It's a telling analogy of my current situation, and in the dreams of a girl I only work with. I call her the Chain's Unsung Hero, she does a lot of work and pulls more than her weight but seems to avoid getting any credit. For a while I've realized that she's special, but didn't realize just how Intuitive, or Perceptive, she actually is. I capitalize these words - her antenna is unusually receptive. That, or I'm radiating a strong signal. It must be a combination of both, really. Why her? Who's sending me a message, and how do I respond?

I've had my share of freak coincidences, but when she told me that she doesn't usually remember her dreams, and proceeded to sweep my jaw into a butler, I considered the potential necessity of my dusty old Book. In fact, I'm not even sure I have a copy, which isn't good regardless.

I have my thoughts on the cosmos and where we belong in it, however, and I don't like most of the people I've met in church. These are people that moved from the tight community of their high schools to a slightly narrower community and then quit growing up. I don't mean to generalize, of course - at least not too much. But, if you're familiar with the church politics that I grew up around, you'd probably understand.


Lovely moves away soon.